


Always the Little Things

by chibiMuffin999



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, bionic-arm repair, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiMuffin999/pseuds/chibiMuffin999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has gotten his life back, and he's doing really well. Or at least, he was...<br/>(Based on the sparkly, sparkly fan image: http://kaciart.tumblr.com/post/81337626188)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> As with Winter's End, this is a repost of the story from my fanfiction.net account, and I didn't feel like adjusting the dates accordingly. Find the story on fanfiction.net here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10270456/1/Always-the-Little-Things

* * *

"Alright, just get comfy in the chair there, big guy, and we'll get you all tuned up."

Tony gestured the thickly built brunette towards a large leather-padded chair, surrounded by tools and monitors.  
He'd been itching to get a chance to explore the workmanship of Bucky's metal arm and couldn't wait to get started on the repairs. New tech always made him a little giddy, and this thing was a masterpiece.

Bucky didn't move. His eyes had gone wide. He took a step back, bumping heavily into Steve, and startling with a muffled yelp.

"Bucky… you ok? … Buck?"

Bucky realized he'd been muttering and stopped. He shook himself, looking thoroughly spooked.  
"I'm… fine." He made no move towards the chair.

"Is this a bad day for it?"

They both knew what he meant. Bucky had been doing very well in the year and a half since Steve had found him, still the Winter Soldier, passed out in a forest outside of DC.  
He was more or less back to his charismatic, wise-cracking self these days, and had regained a good portion of his memory over time. He swaggered, he laughed, he picked on Steve good naturedly... but every now and then he had 'bad days' - episodes of lost time and abrupt rages. Something would trigger him and he would lose his way again. Steve tried not to think about the bad days.

Bucky swallowed thickly and shook his head. He reminded himself that HYDRA was gone. This wasn't the machine. It had no restraints, no mask of electrodes. It would not erase him. He would never again become an empty shell. ...And he wasn't about to be defeated by a piece of furniture after all the progress he'd made.

"...Everything ok?" Tony stood next to the chair, watching them uncertainly, a pair of welding goggles resting in his messy grey-tinged hair, and a soldering iron in his hand.

"Fine." Bucky answered resolutely, squaring his shoulders and making himself step forward. He settled uneasily into the chair, back rigid, shoulders hunched; but he surrendered the arm to Tony's inspection.

"You've got a funny definition of 'fine', Robo-cop." Tony glanced up at him. "Relax. You want JARVIS to get you a beer or something?"

" _Really_  wouldn't help..." Bucky ground out through gritted teeth.  
 _It's not the machine. You can trust Tony. It's not the machine. It's not the machine.  
_

He felt his pulse spiking and tried to force it back down. He had to remember to breathe.  
 _It's not the machine.  
_ _It's not the machine._  


_IT'S NOT THE MACHINE._

"Rogers…" Tony was easing back from the chair. Bucky looked ready to explode.  
His metal hand was squeezing into a tight fist, crushing the padded arm-rest. The sound of slowly splintering metal, tearing leather, and harsh shallow panting filled the tense silence.

Steve laid a very cautious hand on Bucky's human wrist, which twitched, apparently resisting the urge to lash out. His knuckles had gone completely white.

"Bucky, look at me, buddy. I'm here... What's wrong?"

Bucky's eyes were panicked, but present. He knew where he was. Not a 'bad day' yet…

"It's too… too damn close..." He managed, taking advantage of Steve's closeness to latch onto his arm like a life-line. His human fist closed like a vise.

"Too close to what. What's too close?" Steve lowered himself into a crouch until he was face to face with his friend. Bucky was actively trying not to hyperventilate.

"The machine…. Wiped. Gone." Bucky squeezed his eyes closed, trying hard to shut it out. Trying to keep control. His grip on Steve's arm tightened.

Connections abruptly formed in Steve's mind and he cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. He'd seen the photos of the machine. The one that had tried to suck the soul out of his best friend. He could definitely see the similarities, and apparently, so could Bucky.

"Bucky… You know I'm never going to let them touch you again, right?"  
Bucky nodded, eyes still closed, breath still erratic.  
"You don't have to do this today. You don't have to do it at all. We'll fix your arm later. We'll figure out something else."

"No." Bucky's eyes finally snapped open. He was marshalling himself as best he could. "I… I can do this. I'm... not afraid of a goddamn chair." He forced his metal hand to let go of the arm-rest, now smashed and bent. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought down panic, pushing away the impulse to lash out and run.

_Not the machine. Not the machine. I am not a machine. Not a weapon. I will not be erased._

"If you're sure you want to do this, I'm right here with you."

Bucky turned grateful eyes to him, as Tony slowly and carefully resumed his stool beside the chair.

"This won't hurt a bit, kid. Just keep it together… you're doing great."

Bucky stared at Steve's hand, gently wrapped around his forearm as reassurance, and tried hard to think of nothing else.

 _Steve is your friend. He always takes care of you. Steve is not HYDRA. Tony is not HYDRA. No one will wipe you now. Never again.  
_ He chanted it over and over in his mind, wincing and quickly looking away whenever his gaze strayed to the arm; his eye caught by a brilliant spark of tool on metal. His eyes always returned to Steve's hand, warm and reassuringly wrapped around his wrist. Steve's other hand rested lightly on his shoulder, silently promising that he was safe.

* * *

It felt like days, but the entire repair lasted only 15 minutes. Bucky launched himself away from the chair the instant they were finished. He stood some distance from it, catching his breath, hands braced against the wall in desperate relief.  
 _Still here._  He reminded himself.  _Not empty._

"You ok, Buck?"  
Steve's hand found his shoulder again. He took a few long, slow, deep breaths.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm ok." He glanced over his shoulder at Steve and smiled. "Don't you dare tell anybody I flipped out over a chair."

"Your secret's safe with me." Steve smiled back, giving his shoulder a gentle shake and turning back to survey the damaged chair. "Gotta say, though… I hope you never need a dentist."


End file.
